


Evergreen

by Raven (singlecrow)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: rs_small_gifts, Diwali, M/M, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:57:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/pseuds/Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's winter in wartime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evergreen

Late in that autumn, Remus begins to shine, an inner radiance leaking messily from the brightness of his eyes, from the tenor of his voice, from the way he runs down stairs as though there were firecrackers in his feet. There's something unbreakable in him.

"Maybe he's in love," James says, watching him running down the wintry street, cloak flying out behind him, the greyish sleet turning to crystal drops as it touches his shoulders.

"I know he is," Sirius says, with the quietness of one who does know, and James punches him lightly.

"Jammy, complacent bastard" – this, with affection. "Read this."

The parchment came from Dumbledore, brought by owl through the sleet, the awful freezing rain that seems, to Sirius's eyes, like the London rain of his childhood; then, as now, it went on forever. "He says we have to go," James says, watching Sirius skim the narrow handwriting. "Lily thinks we shouldn't Apparate, either."

"It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Sirius says, dropping it. "Perhaps not. Perhaps killing wizards and witches because they're not pureblood is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." He pauses; he's been thinking about ideology lately. Ideology, and werewolf segregation laws, and that childhood rain. "But it comes a close second."

"No choice in the matter, mate." This time the punch is softer, more of a friendly caress. "Let me know what Remus thinks, when you see him this evening."

In the evening Remus turns from the window, lifting his head so the frosted light from outside brings out all the edges of the still expression on his face. "Do you really think it's so ridiculous?"

"I didn't say it wasn't a good idea," Sirius says, not sure if that's true. But it's brought a smile to Remus's face; still distant in that strange light, but a source of warmth in the dimness of the night.

*

They arrive in Edinburgh at the end of a long day, Remus drowsy still – Sirius woke him as the train skimmed silently through Haymarket, the snowflakes wheeling haphazardly through the deep yellow lights – and they jump heavily down to the platform, scurry through the sudden noise of the station and up the stone steps. Sirius was trying to sleep on the way up, resting his head against the glass so his lips made strange half-kisses on the surface, but his mind was restless, thoughts juddering along with the rhythm of the train. The sun came out at the close of it all, a red sunset after a grey day, a backdrop to the vista changing from fields, to industry, to moorland. The light died into the North Sea and by the time they crossed the Tweed, it was dark, so Sirius only knew they were crossing from the sound of the water far below, sinister and chilly. Remus was sleeping.

"Sirius!" Lily calls, and they both seem to wake up at once, picking up their pace as they clamber up, noticing the warm, bright lights of the city, the music and laughter spilling out of the pub halfway up the steps. "Remus! Over here!"

She runs down to them, hugs them both indiscriminately, and Sirius feels something inside him start to ease. "It's so good to see you both. Come on, we've no time before it all begins. Did you bring a change of clothes? There's a place to leave our things... hurry up, we'll be late! "

She drags them along, chattering happily, and Sirius grins to himself and wonders, aloud, "What are we doing here?"

They're on the Royal Mile now, surrounded by Christmas shoppers, tinsel on the lampposts, children in woolly hats. Lily laughs at him, face pink with cold and exertion. "I have no idea."

And Remus is bright-eyed, suddenly, and laughing. "It's safer. And it'll do you both good to be out of London." A pause. "Pansy southerners, both of you."

"Remus, you're English!" Lily says to him, cheerfully, and puts an arm around his shoulders.

"Yes," Remus says, laughing. "I grew up in Northumberland."

"So you did," says Sirius, remembering. There are not many places in Britain, after all, where a child can play in a garden near where werewolves roam at night, even if one of them has a grudge. And yet, Remus has never claimed an unhappy childhood. In Sirius's imagination, it's a place of windswept land rolling to the horizon, pale blue skies, the sound of the sea. Compared to Grimmauld Place, it's washed-through, clean.

"Right." Remus is still smiling, gives Lily a squeeze, Sirius a happy glance. "I'm more at home, up here."

It seems to be true; Sirius notes the easy roll of his gait, the slight bounce in his step, as though the life they lead has fallen from his shoulders in leaving London behind. He's wearing a bright red scarf, just visible at his throat; a trifle, something Sirius picked up for him off a market stall, and the intensity of the colour suits him.

He's setting a brisk pace, and Sirius and Lily have to scrabble to keep up.

*

The place they've chosen in anonymous and quiet. But it's a pub, with gnarled black oak beams, lights gleaming through the nice assortment of upturned bottles above the bar. It's inviting and warm, and Sirius is grateful.

The London train was running late, and they're almost the last to arrive; Sirius is startled by how many pairs of eyes catch his as they come in. There's James, waving; there are Alice and Frank, and Frank's battleaxe of a mother; there are the Patils, with Lakshmi's bump now bigger than she is; there's Peter and Dorcas and the top of Flitwick's head. He and Remus sit down next to James, and he turns to his left to meet Andromeda, who whistles cheerfully in his direction.

Dumbledore waits for them to settle and gets up to speak. "Thank you all for coming," he says, in a low voice that carries across the room. "Many of you have come great distances on a cold night. I am grateful to each and every one of you, and I am sorry that circumstances have made this necessary. There are those among us who consider the security costs to be too great" – here, all eyes turn to Mad-Eye Moody – "but I disagree. This is _necessary_. Thank you."

He sits down. There's a moment of confused silence before the hum of conversation starts up again, but once it does people are energised. Chairs are pushed back against the wall, someone goes to put on some music. Sirius doesn't move for a moment, sitting still, taking it all in. "How are you, Sirius?" Andromeda asks, quietly.

"Fine," Sirius says automatically, then stops, considers. "All right," he says, tentatively. "Remus and I.... we're doing all right."

"Good," Andromeda says. "I'm glad, Sirius. Don't forget you're not alone."

He turns, wondering what she means, and then has to take a sudden step back as Moody looms into sight, looking grim. "It's an unnecessary risk," he says, all piss and vinegar as usual.

Sirius takes a deep breath, ready to agree with him, and then catches sight of Remus running across the room with his cloak flaring out behind him like he has his own personal gale and laughing, and finds himself saying, "No, it's not."

"That's not what I heard you thought." Moody sits down on a wooden chair and looks ready to take his eye out. He doesn't, though, and Sirius is grateful. "I thought you were outvoted."

"I changed my mind." Sirius doesn't mention he's done it right this very minute. "I think... we needed this. We didn't do Guy Fawkes, and I missed that, the house-elves always made a big fuss for it when I was tiny. The Patils didn't do Diwali, it was too risky. Andromeda wanted a birthday party for Nymphadora, but no one could travel, so there couldn't be any guests. Hallowe'en, remember how we did that at school? And Remus and me..."

He doesn't say the next part. He doesn't say, we've been together in and around a war; we've never eaten a meal in a restaurant or gone for a walk in the park. We've been together and happy, but never just those.

Moody says, "Will this help? Or will it just make things worse?"

Sirius doesn't say anything, because he doesn't know.

*

The room is full of light. Arthur Weasley is demonstrating electric bulbs to an approving audience of mostly men, mostly scruffy and keen-eyed; along the far edges of the room, there are two menorahs being slowly, carefully lit. A flash of familiar movement catches his eye for a moment, and he turns to see Lily helping Peter light an Advent candle, set in a wreath made of berries and evergreen.

"Welcome to the club, Sirius," says a voice, and he turns; it's a stranger. Sirius shakes his head to clear it of the slight fog – the light, scattering through candle smoke – and realises no, it isn't; it's a tall, dark chap in purple robes, muted but splendid.

"Kingsley," Sirius says, smiling; Kingsley was a year above him at school, a force for calm in Gryffindor tower. "What club?"

Kingsley grins. "Out of it, aren't you?" He pats Sirius's shoulder comfortingly. "I heard you and your old friend were more than friends, these days."

"Remus..." Sirius says, very quietly before he can stop himself. "Yes." They're not hiding it, exactly; it's not as if Sirius has any parental approval to sacrifice, and Remus said in that clear way of his that he was tired of secrets. But everything is secret these days; everything is a weapon in the right hands. Sirius suddenly stands up straight and says, "Yes, yes, we are."

"Glad to hear it." Kingsley smiles and perches himself on the edge of a table. "I never suspected, at school. Not that that's anything but your business, of course. And it's not like there's a newsletter you ought to be subscribing to, or anything. But some day this war will be over, and you'll maybe have more time to think about how it all fits together. Let me know if you need anything."

"Like a newsletter?" Sirius blurts out, and Kingsley's bass laughter resonates.

"Like a friend," he says, swings silently to his feet and wanders off into the crowd.

Sirius watches him go, and envies him that deep-seated assurance. _Some day this war will be over_. All at once he needs to have Remus close to him.

*

"What did you get me, what did you get me?" Nymphadora is clinging to Remus's sleeve. Sirius looks at them both with a rush of fondness that surprises even him.

Remus looks at her thoughtfully and says, "Hmm. Was there something I'm forgetting? Would you care to remind me, Sirius?"

Sirius sits down next to them and smiles. "I don't know, my friend. Perhaps I'm forgetting too."

"Moony." Nymphadora frowns at them both, looks like she's concentrating hard. Her face shifts into its most angular shape, delicate arched eyebrows and high prominent cheekbones. Sirius suspects, but has never made certain, that this is her real face; this studied elegance is all House of Black. "Moony, tell him!"

She picked that up from Sirius: a pet-name is a sure way to get Remus to soften. He grins, suddenly, his eyes lighting up, and with a flick of his wand a package appears. It's wrapped up with as many ribbons as they could conjure up at the last moment, and she tears into it. "Thank you!"

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," Remus says, and catches Sirius's eye. "In another life," he says, softly enough for her not to hear, "I'd have taken her to the zoo and bought her ice-cream."

Sirius actually thinks they did quite well: shopping is nigh on impossible, especially when the Order members are trying their best to keep out of public sight, but Remus has a lateral mind when it comes to present-buying. They went for brightly-coloured editions of Muggle school stories – neither of them mentioning the lurking fear that Hogwarts will close before Nymphadora's eleventh birthday – and Remus scoured his own library for volumes on Metamorphmagi in history. She's leafing through one of these now, the arcane theory still a little beyond her reading age, but Remus was right that she'd be attracted by the pictures, other women in history who could look like whatever they wanted. She looks up at them both, and smiles, her face softening through emotions and shades, becoming pink in the warmth.

Sirius smiles back. "Happy birthday from me, too."

"There are going to be fireworks, later!" Nymphadora tells them, excitedly. "Mum told me. And Professor Dumbledore said he could do magical ones – like Gandalf does in the book, you know!"

 _Fireworks?_ Sirius mouths to Remus, thinking: _Death Eaters_ ; _hiding_ ; _risk_. A blur of thoughts, inarticulate and immediate, is all he can manage these days, a barely rational cloak to the underlying fear.

"Fireworks," says Remus, firmly, and although he's looking at Nymphadora, Sirius hears the answer to himself. "We'll have to make sure we get the birthday girl the best seat in the house."

He's full of that energy again, that intensity, as he takes Nymphadora's hand and leads her across the floor. Sirius is thinking himself lucky.

*

Lakshmi Patil was in Sirius's OWL Potions class, and his abiding memory of her is her face reflected into the clear limpidity of her Veritaserum, next to Sirius's sludgy brown efforts. He tells her this, and she laughs. "It wasn't your area of expertise, Sirius. Neither was essence of dittany, or dreamless sleep potion. Or Potions in general, for that matter."

Sirius grins back. "I think Slughorn was rather pleased when I dropped it, to be honest."

She raises her eyebrows. "He was rather displeased when I kept on. Now, Sirius, go and fetch Remus, and once you find him we'll have finished setting up."

Sirius nods and turns away, looking out at the room, taking a miniature quiche from a nearby table of canapes, and feeling mellow. Remus is talking to Lily, waving his hands about as he explains something; he catches Sirius's eye and wanders across, still waving his hands around, still talking. Sirius can't hear what he's saying over the background buzz in the room, but it makes him smile, nevertheless.

Lakshmi smiles as he appears, and holds out her hands. Sirius steps back and says, "Er...", feeling suddenly parochially pureblood and useless.

Remus knows what to do. Remus always knows what to do. He kicks off his boots and bows his head, pushing his hair back with one hand and holding out the other in entreaty. Lakshmi nods and brushes the red powder on her fingertips, smudges with her thumb on the centre of his forehead, adds a sprinkle of rice. Remus drops his hands to the flames, and brushes them over his head. Sirius does what he does, bending his head. Lakshmi smiles as he does, and the brush on his forehead is chilly with water. He shivers, and she laughs. "Take _aarti_ ," she says, and he touches the flames. "That's right. When this war is over, I'll show you how it's done."

"This isn't how it's done?" he asks, feeling suddenly dizzy with warmth and colour.

"This is the bones of it," she says, a little sadly. "This is the words without the music."

Sirius looks around the room with its beams tending inwards, and nods. "When was Diwali?"

"Three weeks ago." Lakshmi puts down the plate, fetches fresh red powder, whispers to the flame so it burns brighter. "I never even knew until later. I lost track, and the birds my mother sent from India never arrived."

"I'm sorry."

"She celebrated it," Lakshmi says, calmly. "She's safe at home. We ask for nothing more. James, Lily, you're next."

They step forwards in the glow of the lamp, their eyes alight with the reflections, and Sirius watches them and grips Remus's hand.

*

The fireworks _are_ risky. Sirius holds still with the others, providing the raw power for a spell that Lily, Flitwick and Dumbledore construct; tied up in it, Sirius can feel the shape of it coming together, structured as a dome, stretching high above them. When it's done, they see no difference, but Sirius feels suddenly light-headed, as though he's been sprinting in the cold air. "All right?" Remus whispers in his ear.

Sirius nods. Dumbledore lets off the first rocket, and it shrieks into the air, bursts into golden stars and a fiery shape – a bird, then a rabbit, then a coiled snake, then a ring, all glittering with colour and writhing with life – and there's the customary _oohs_ and _aahs_ from the spectators.

"Are we sure no one..." Sirius begins, worriedly.

Remus smiles. "The spell's one for concealment. With Dumbledore and Flitwick _and_ Lily doing it, I think we'll be all right. Besides, look at Nymphadora's face."

Sirius does, and smiles. Her hair has gone pink with excitement, and the coloured stars above are reflecting in her eyes. She looks transported.

"Her birthday," Sirius says quietly. "She's nine years old, Christ. What did she do to deserve this? What did any of us do?"

"We didn't do anything," Remus is firm on that, and suddenly Sirius is seeing that radiance in him again – that core of something irresistibly bright. Kingsley could see this, too, he decides. Something about Remus is contagious, and it's not _that_ ; it's the way he sees the world, clear, bright, bright, bright.

Sirius shivers. "Moony..."

"What, Sirius?" Remus tightens his grip on Sirius's hand, looks at him with eyes wide and focused.

"Stay with me," Sirius says, very softly, beneath the canopy of concealment, beneath the sky full of stars.


End file.
